


Imitation of Life

by RhetoricFemme



Series: Imitation of Life [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Domestic, But maybe not her sense of class, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, HS Graduate-to-Adults, Homophobia, Imitation of Life, Jean got Susan's bite, LGBTQ-encompassing-faith, Leaving Home, M/M, Marco working his ass off, More tag surely to come, More tags surely to come, Religion, Wherein Susan Kirschtein writes letters to Marco's Mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt has known for his entire young life the importance of working hard. On the cusp of high school graduation, he's about to find out what exactly for.</p><p><i>Imitation of Life</i> follows Marco and the people who care about him from the point of high school graduation,  into various points of adulthood. The story alternates between exposition, and Susan Kirschstein's written attempts to keep Marco's parents in the loop regarding their son's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imitation of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story in 2014, and ended up putting it on the shelf for a variety of reasons. I always knew I'd come back to it when the time was right, and it's never really left my mind. Thankfully, now seems to be the time for it.
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading this. Being my first structured story for the fandom, I would immensely appreciate any feedback you'd be willing to give.
> 
> Also, there's a companion piece called [Save Tonight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5938996), written from Marco's POV, if you're interested. :)
> 
>  **Trigger Warning:** There is one mention of homophobic language in the story.

**But when you’re broken down / And no one else is around / You’ll come running back to this town / And I’ll be there / Yeah, I’ll be there / Cause I remember how we drank time together / And how you used to say that the stars are forever / And daydreamed about how to make your life better by leaving town**

\--Dexter Freebish, Leaving Town

 

* * *

  

A victorious smile broke out across Susan Kirschstein’s face, as the heel of one wrist finally managed to loosen the window frame. Trost’s unforgiving springtime humidity may have expanded the elder home’s wooden framework, but it had nothing against Susan’s resolve to win the struggle for fresh evening air. 

Satisfied with the cool breeze, Susan returned to the overstuffed armchair in the corner—the one whose beat up, cognac leather had been worn smooth from years of use; the one that she’d played, lounged, and slept in for decades before her son Jean had even been born. A peaceful sigh escaped her lips as she made a half-hearted effort to retreat into the book she’d been reading before the window debacle.

 Alas. It was all to no avail, as there could be no competing against the standard, yet still amusing interaction that was currently playing out between her husband and son. Her husband, Jakob, glued to his laptop, Jean to the desktop she’d told him not to haul down from his bedroom; both respectively strewn across the couch and floor. 

“Dammit, Dad!” Jean’s eyes held to the screen while playfully admonishing their little family’s patriarch for his lack of gaming skills, “Healers stay back. That other guy is a ninja. Next time let me go for the chest, and you work on covering me.” 

“Uh huh,” came Jakob’s smooth reply, “Watch your mouth or you might wake up tomorrow to find you’ve misplaced some special gear.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Try me.”

Expletive-laden banter and minor threats aside, the atmosphere in the Kirschstein home ran light, if not bittersweet throughout the night. The preceding afternoon had marked the end of final exams for the graduating seniors at Trost High School, which for Jean and his friends meant temporarily setting responsibility aside. Glossing over their newfound freedom was the nervous high of soon embarking on a new season of obligation. Paperwork had been mailed, dates set, plans established and signed off on, but ultimately what stood in front of them all was an era of uncertain independence and a shift in responsibility.

Indeed, the party Eren had thrown the night before had been largely about celebrating their newfound independence, if not also in effort to forget about all of the impending changes. If only for one night. At the very least, there existed a certain sense of solace and camaraderie in knowing that some of the people he’d grown up calling friends and teammates would be heading to the University of Sina right alongside him.

A trend existed, Jean had noticed, wherein each graduating class had a penchant for seeing large groups of students off to the same universities; packs of them oftentimes grouping inadvertently on their way into the great unknown. Even Armin Arlert, whose boarding school education ensured that Jean only saw the guy once, maybe twice a year, had accepted a full scholarship to Sina.

Now, with only graduation in front of them, it was the combined effort of putting off thinking about the new weight about to be placed upon their shoulders that would help them to keep a steady, familiar cadence on their way to the next big thing. Indeed, the summer had been designated less for thinking and more for balancing time with friends, and hoarding away as much cash as possible before the start of new school year. 

A moment of reprieve for Jean, for Susan it marked a sentimental pit in her stomach. It was a reminder of the looming emptiness she was certain no mother, despite years of overthinking the fact, could ever truly prepare herself for. Her private despair was secondary, however, and more than anything there existed immense pride, blatant happiness—and if she were feeling particularly honest—a giddy acceptance of a house somewhat less occupied. 

No matter. Jean would be around for at least part of the summer, no doubt lazing and lounging in the days before the University of Sina put a dent into his capacity to think outside of an academic box. What was more, was the fact that he sat with them _no_ _w_. Voluntarily in the company of his parents, and enjoying himself, no less. 

Years had passed since Susan and Jakob had enforced the concept of weekly family nights with Jean, who at the time had found the practice a pain. A middle school thing, it had been a means of keeping informed of their child’s life as much as it had been about savoring the time, and there was absolutely no part of Jean’s adolescent griping or silence that would ever make Susan regret it. Very little time would pass before Jean’s own schedule would become a beast in its own right, and as if in answer to her prayers, as he grew older Jean developed a penchant for spending pieces of his free time with his parents, be it inside or out of their home. 

Regardless of the changes that lay in front of them, Susan found herself more than content while reminding herself to stay in the present moment. It was only the moment that Susan decided to pull her feet into the chair that there came a knock at the front door. 

Sharing only a minutia of his mother’s curiosity, Jean merely raised an eyebrow, and left her to implore as to what sort of person came knocking during the dark hours of the evening.

 

Lamenting that she’d barely enough time to leave her print in the old chair, before she knew it Susan was crossing the room, then nearly turning back again after a lengthy period of silence between knocks. 

And then, there it was again. A little bit louder and more insistent than the last time. 

Turning the knob, she was partially unprepared for the young man standing on the other side of the threshold. 

“Marco?” 

“Hey, Susan.” Voice laced with false informality, Marco wore a crestfallen smile. An overnight bag was dangerously close to sliding entirely off his shoulder. “Um, is it okay if I stay here tonight?” 

The implication behind Marco’s words went straight to her heart. Parked alongside the curb was the old blue Sunbird the boy had saved so hard for; so proud when he had finally been able to purchase it during his Junior year. Peering into the dark, she could make out silhouettes of boxes and laundry baskets piled into the backseat. 

She wouldn’t make him say it. It had been enough finding him standing on a doorstep he had not been required to knock at for so many years. Taking his bag, Susan ushered him inside, an arm wrapped tight around his shoulders. 

“C’mon, Sweetie. It’s too cold outside.”

 

**\- - -**

  

Dear Stephen and Judith, 

This morning both our babies graduated from high school! Can you believe it?! All the hard work that went into building that makeshift stage, and they were able to hold the ceremony outside after all. Thank goodness we were able to hold off on the rain! 

Mikasa’s valedictorian speech was every bit as good as everyone knew it would be.  Maybe it’s just how serious she can be sometimes, but the rest of the graduates even stopped floating their beach ball to listen to her speak. If that isn’t presence, I don’t know what is. 

It goes without saying how proud we are of Jean, but I can’t help but tell you just how proud Jakob and I are of your Marco. Four years of cross country and soccer (has Trost ever seen a better goalie?!), three years holding down an afterschool job, and he still comes in at seventh in their class. 

You must be so proud of all he’s accomplished. I just know it. I know you must wish to have been there. Celebrating him, and celebrating with him. 

I know they tell families to hold all applause until the end, but Jakob and I just couldn’t help but obnoxiously call out and cheer as they walked across that stage. Jean rolled his eyes, of course. You should have seen the blush across Marco’s face! 

I’ve enclosed a few photos for you. There’s one of your boy walking across the stage, one of Jean and Marco together, and another of them with Connie, Sasha, Mikasa, and Eren. All smiles with their tassles and cords. I bet if you ask her, Martha Springer will have some good shots, too. 

Honestly, Judith, this group may have had their differences, but it’s amazing to have watched them over the years, and how they’ve been there for one another. What a privilege it is to see that as parents. Don’t you think? 

Who knows if we’ll ever see them together like this again. 

Marco told me that he doesn’t have any open house plans, and that he’s fine with it. Jean filled me in on what is going on, however. The boys will be having a joint open house next week, so I’ll include an invitation for that, too. Please don’t worry about providing anything. We’ve got enough

photographs and even some potentially embarrassing video footage, most likely dating back to first or second grade. Jean “borrowed” Marco’s phone and grabbed his family contacts for me, so I’ll be extending invitations to anyone who would like to come. It would be nice to see you, too. 

I hope you don’t mind. It’s not my intention to meddle in your family’s business, but after all this time Marco is a part of our family, too. He’s done nothing but put his best foot forward, and I’d like to honor that. You and Stephen can take the time you need, but please don’t take too long. In the meantime it just doesn’t seem fair to keep the rest of Marco’s family away. 

I suppose that’s all for now. As you know, Marco is welcome to stay with us for as long as he likes. Maybe give him a heads up first, but you’re also always welcome to stop by. It would be nice to see you again, sometime. 

All My Best,

Susan Kirschstein

 

 

* * *

 

 _Finally_.

The near silent presence of Marco in the hallway immediately caught Jean’s attention. Sitting upright, he listens patiently as cautious footsteps traipse around the aged hardwood’s myriad creaks and whines. Several seconds pass before Jean hears the quiet shutter of the bedroom door, only yards away from his own, and he sighs into the night. More prominent than the fact that Marco had bypassed Jean’s room altogether, was the realization that he’d never even bothered to turn on his own bedroom light, clipping the remainder of his routine short in favor of darkness. The entire thing left Jean questioning if Marco was just being considerate, or if he was honestly in the mood to be left alone.

Turning onto his side, Jean watched as suburbia lay asleep outside his bedroom window. A lone car drove past the house, washing an eerie yellow light across the old sycamore on the front lawn. The disruption brought with it a cacophony of jostled crickets, as well as the inevitable end of Jean’s dwindling patience.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he tread cautiously toward the room that had been designated as Marco’s, making certain to dodge those same obnoxious floorboards that he’d taught Marco to avoid so many years ago.

Undoubtedly, Marco would have heard him coming. It didn’t change the way that Jean waited outside, leaning against the closed door while listening for any signs of wanting to be left alone. It didn’t change the way Jean held his own breath if it might somehow help him to better discern any signs of distress.

Shifting his weight onto the door frame, Jean gave a blithe rap of his knuckles against the aged wood.

“Marco? You in there?”

The air around him loomed in questionable silence, ultimately disrupted by the loud turn of an antique knob as Marco slowly pushed open the door.

“You heard me come in, Jean.” Marco’s tone was sharp, and slightly out of sync with the fatigue that had descended upon his face during the past few weeks. “And I’m not contemplating shimmying through the room’s porthole-sized window. So yes. I’m in here.”

“Sure thing, dude.” Jean tried to muster his best shit-eating grin. “Just making sure.”

Not bothering to return the smile, Marco grabbed him gently by the shirt, pulling Jean inside before effortlessly shutting the door.

“Get in here before your mother hears us lingering in the hall.”

“What?” He gave a short, arrogant laugh. “You don’t think Susan knows that two college-bound boys are going to try and live a bit dangerously?”

Jean joked, but knew all too well how displeased his mother would be to catch the two of them in the same bedroom during the middle of the night. Long gone were the days where he and Marco could freely share a bedroom to just themselves for an entire night.

It was no matter to Jean. He’d no doubt of his mother’s honorable, if not annoyingly maternal intentions. From where Jean stood, he’d gained more than he had lost, as opportunity for intimacy had become a sort of game. Each touch carried not only affection, but one type of excitement after another. Where falling asleep on the couch had once been no big deal, it now served as an occasional exception the rule. Even the white noise of after-midnight television had earned an element of sentimentality in his book.

So it was. At least inside Jean’s house.

He also knew that Marco would not dare break the rule if he did not absolutely feel some intrinsic, quietly unsteady need for it. Jean answered Marco’s silent request for companionship with a serious gaze, and a calm grip at his boyfriend’s elbows.

“Sorry if you tried calling today.” Tired and retreating, Marco dismissed Jean’s embrace and moved for the edge of the bed. “They shut off my phone.”

Forgoing words entirely, Jean brought himself to rest behind Marco, who now rubbed his face in absolute fatigue. Feeling Jean’s arms wrap around him, an automatic sense of comfort enveloped him. He’d waited all day for this.

Weeks had passed since graduation. Weeks since he’d walked through the front door of the place that for his entire life he’d called home. Instead, Marco had spent the bulk of his time alternating between cross-country trails, and working as many hours as he could squeeze out of RoseMarie Sports before it was time to carve yet another new home, this time out of his first college dorm.

Jean’s schedule had been running in the opposite direction, although it kept him busy just the same. Now, mentally and physically exhausted to the core, finding time with Jean was almost too much. Leaning into Jean’s chest, Marco could not shake the tremble that was his own breath. Jean hugged him tighter, insinuating that finally, he would be able to just let go.

“It took them almost a month to do it.” Swallowing, Marco did what he could to diminish the lump in his throat. “So they must have been thinking about whether or not to completely disown me during that time, right?”

“Marco—“

“But I’m out of a phone now, right? All my contacts for the rest of my family just _wiped_ away.” Making a sweeping gesture with one hand, its aggressive undertone was cut short by Jean catching it midair.

“ _I’ve_ got your family’s contacts. And tomorrow you’ll get another phone.”

“Why do you—“

“Open house, dork. How else do you think your Grandpa of all people ended up here?”

Caught somewhere between being touched and forced to admit defeat, Marco settled back into Jean with a shrug.

“I guess I just hoped that even if they were still too upset to come, that my parents just redirected everyone else here.”

“Sorry.”

Of all the things he could have heard, it took a heartfelt apology from Jean’s lips—the apology meant to come from someone else—that caused Marco to break down, entirely. With a single deep breath, tears began to stream down his face without a sound. Jean raised a hand to wipe away the tears, hit particularly hard by Marco’s determination to work his upsets out as quietly as possible.

“I did _everything_. Everything I could have ever done to make them happy with me, _I did it_. But you want to know what’s really shit?”

Holding off any verbal response, Jean drew him closer.

“Do you remember that party at my house? When we first started high school. The only one I ever had?”

“Yeah, I remember it.”

“Part of me knew that this could happen, even back then. When the party ended, and Sasha stayed late to help clean. My mom was helping us pick up, and all she wanted to talk about was Krista and Ymir. How such a sweet, pretty girl could turn out to be a dyke, and wondering what could possibly have caused her to go that way.”

Jean squeezed a little tighter, bringing his head to rest on Marco’s shoulder.

“The _look_ on Sasha’s face… was mortifying. We were just barely fifteen, and I hadn’t said anything to anyone. But Sasha just gave me this pitiful look, like she knew what I hadn’t said out loud yet, and was trying so hard not to feel sorry for me.

“And I _still_ felt like apologizing for my mom. I mean, how the hell do you apologize for that?!”

By now, the well-guarded calm with which Marco conducted most of his life had been chipped down to nothing. There was not, however, anything to indicate a loss of the resolute manner with which Marco approached the various challenges set in from of him.

“Not your job, man.” Jean assured him. “But hey, at least that explains why I had such a fucking terrible time getting you to flirt back at me.”

Laughing despite himself, Marco craned his neck to leave a salt-stained kiss on Jean’s grinning lips.

“I know.” He whispered. “And I’m sorry for that. I’d hoped for different, but even then I knew. I knew how it made me feel to look at guys. How my parents would feel about the way I look at guys… And I knew well enough that it wasn’t going to go away. And that I didn’t want it to.”

Leaving a kiss behind one ear, Jean could feel Marco’s body tense beneath him.

“I gave them _everything_ they wanted, Jean. And more. Not just to prove that I could do it, but because those were the same exact things that would eventually get me away from them, if I had to.”

“Mhm.” This was not Jean’s moment, but all the same he found himself wondering who he could vent to about how incredibly awful Marco’s parents were. That their only son did his best to simultaneously love and impress them, while making a long-term escape plan out of those same traits, just in case they refused to love him back. He hoped Connie didn’t have to work tomorrow.

“I took the toughest classes, and earned my grades.” Marco continued, as if listing out his accomplishments might allot him some far-reaching brand of perseverance.  The only thing Jean could hear was the inevitable sound of Marco’s rising anger.

“Bought my own car, then saved most of it away. There’s graduation money. Between my savings and working on breaks, my scholarships should get me through without taking out any loans. Outside of living under their roof the way someone’s child is _supposed_ to, that phone was the only time I took a dime from them.”

He was trembling. The finality of Marco’s childhood was not occurring on the lawn of some fraternity, or within the pages of a make-or-break exam. No, it was terminating at the hands of his parents’ refusal to accept the idea of how their son was born to love.

“High school isn’t supposed to be comfortable.” Marco breathed. “And that’s fine. Whatever. But I’ve worked hard enough, and I’m going to make sure that I can be comfortable after.”

Unravelling Marco from his arms, Jean came around to face him, running his hands down tense shoulders, stopping only to cuff shaking wrists in his hands. The comfort of Jean’s movement, the intensity of his stare, was rife with a sense of immediacy that words on their own could not convey.

“Marco, listen to me.” His voice was thick with urgency, causing Marco to swallow the lump beginning to rise in his throat. Seeing Jean like this would have been incredibly attractive, were it not for the circumstances surrounding it.

“Fuck them.”

Oh, but even charm just couldn’t last forever…

“ _Jean_.”

“No, I’m serious! They’re your parents, I know. Of course you love them. But for now, _fuck them_. Your happiness is not something you should have to ransom. _Especially_ not from your mom and dad.”

Nodding silently, he pulled Jean up onto the bed before repositioning them to lay his head in his best friend’s lap. How many years had it been where Jean had always known precisely what to say? Perhaps not to everyone—he definitely didn’t know what to say to everyone. For Marco, however, he’d been a source of comfort longer than he could even remember. Years before Marco had ever considered him more than a friend, to be sure.

And now, he paid attention to nothing outside of the fingers raking through his hair. There was quiet and solace to be had here. Content for the moment, Marco decided to shut out the rest of the world.

He’d grown so sick of waiting. Tired of worrying and crying behind closed doors. It was all he could do to keep his chest from heaving while ravenous fatigue continued to ride upon his heels.

Returning to the moment, he watched as Jean looked off into nowhere, his fingers tucking hair behind Marco’s ear and playing so casually with brunet fringe. For once, he felt convinced that it wouldn’t be so bad to give in, and to stop trying so hard. Even if just for the night.

Drawing himself out of Jean’s lap, Marco was quick to take up his hand, gently squeezing his fingers before laying a kiss inside of Jean’s wrist. It was an attempt to ease the sudden look of concern playing across his face, and thankfully, the gesture had worked.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

Nodding, Marco managed a smile. Neither bright nor particularly wide, it was indicative of the moment, and sincere in its entirety.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Raising onto his knees, Marco took advantage of Jean moving to face him, using the moment to push him gently back by the shoulders. Bringing one leg onto either side of him, he relished the change in Jean’s demeanor as he lay beneath him.

“About how…” Dipping low, Marco, grazed his teeth against Jean’s collar bone while considering exactly what he wanted to say. “About how maybe it’s time to be done with it.”

“Good for you.” Jean drawled between kisses, catching Marco’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Fuck ‘em.”

“You’ve gotta stop that.” Marco admonishes him, biting just on the other side of too hard on Jean’s neck. “I’m done thinking about it. But only for now.”

“Fine.” All at once, this is the Marco Jean knows, and yet it isn’t. The drive he’s come to attribute to Marco throughout the years is alive and well, even if these days it’s used to keep Marco’s own sense of morale afloat. It’s not Jean’s fight, but he’s not going anywhere while listening to Marco spend his insistence, his immutable perseverance on the parents who no longer want anything to do with him.

It’s costing Marco everything, and Jean swears to himself to do all he can to find Marco bits of reprieve. Jean will scrounge up everything at hand to offer the best person he’s had to privilege of knowing, even it garners only the smallest moment of rest. Whatever it takes to keep Marco far away from the ledge of defeat.

“I need a break.” Marco’s words came muffled, caught between hot breath and fabric as they each work to remove shirts and unclasp buckles.

“Take as long as you need.”

“It’s the people you love the most who hurt you the worst.” Marco’s laugh cuts sardonic through the air, “Isn’t that what they say?”

“But I thought _I_ loved you the most.” Deft hands wipe the blonde fringe away from Jean’s eyes, and he brushes a knee between Marco’s legs while defying the adage. “I’m never going to hurt you.”

“Jean…”

 He loves the way Marco’s breath hitches over his name.

“ _Mm_. What?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Haven’t hurt you yet, have I?”

“No. But you know what I mean.”

“Whatever. You’re fed-up right now. That’s fine. I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Metal gives way in Jean’s hands, and he makes slow work of pulling Marco’s belt from around his waist. He smiles, taking his time to remove Marco’s pants, savoring the feeling of Marco’s slow unwind above him. A low growl leaves Jean’s chest as he moves against the knee placed between his legs.

 “You say it’s the people who love you most that hurt you? I’m going to prove you wrong.”

“Jean—“

“Challenge accepted, Marco.” One more nudge, and Jean lowers his knee while arching his back to meet Marco half-way. “Even if you give me all the time in the world.”

Marco lets out a small laugh while wrapping his arms around familiar shoulders. Gliding his hands down the length of Jean’s torso, he brings one hand to rest at the small of his back, the other self-guided to the places only the two of them could know.

Closing his eyes, Marco smiles, allowing himself to become lost in perfect oblivion.

 

\- - -

 

Dear Stephen and Judith,

I can barely grasp just how quickly this last month has gone by! But we say that sort of thing every month, don’t we? I mean it this time, honestly.

Well, after three years of work, Marco recently had his last day at RoseMarie Sports. It’s only been a few days, but it’s not hard to tell that he’s got too much time on his hands.

Tomorrow the boys are leaving for a weeklong camping trip with some of their friends, and will be heading to Sina only a few days after. Amazingly, Marco’s already cleaned the guest bedroom he’s been staying in, as well as the bathroom he shares with Jean. I’m pretty sure both rooms look better now than before he got here. You two have brought up an incredibly courteous and respectful young man. I hope you know that.

So, college. The boys have separate dorms. Marco is rooming with Armin Arlert (don’t know if you remember him. He’s Eren and Mikasa’s friend. He’s from Shiganshina, but went to boarding school and spent a lot of his summers at the Yeager’s). Jean finagled his way into a four person suite with Connie and two kids he hasn’t met yet. I can’t help but laugh. As meticulous as Jean is, he’s really taking a chance! I hope he doesn’t regret it.

I’ve included Marco’s cross country schedule for the fall. He’s been training as diligently as ever, and is most certainly doing right by his scholarship. I’ve underlined the meets Jakob, Jean and I plan on going to. Let me know if you’d like to join us!

We were all very sorry you weren’t able to make it to the open house last month. Especially Marco. A few of your relatives showed up, though! Two of his cousins, Mina and Ymir (is that how you spell it? I don’t even know), their mother, and his grandfather. Stephen, can I just say? Your father is a delightful man!

Marco was thrilled that anyone showed up at all, but I think he nearly cried when he saw his grandfather. They were nearly inseparable for the rest of the day.

We ended up with enough pictures for a nice collage. Jean decided not to display his school projects we’d collected over the years, since we didn’t have any of Marco’s things. I was able to get in touch with Coach Smith, though. He lent us each of the team trophies Marco had a hand in earning. He even wrote out all of Marco’s contributions for each one!

I’ve included a few photos from the open house. There’s one of the overall setup. We cleared out the garage and split it down the middle—one side for each of the boys. There are a few of Jean and Marco visiting with friends, teachers and coaches, and some of Marco with family. My favorite is the one where Marco and his grandpa are making some joke at Jean’s expense. I have no idea what was said, but Jean seems rather flustered, and Marco can’t stop laughing.

It was a nice day.

Jakob and I are driving the boys up to Sina after they’re back from camping. I’ll give you a call when that happens. If you’d like to join us, or if you just want to drive your son to college by yourself, just let me know.

If I don’t hear back from you before school starts, then alright. I promise not to flood you with letters, but you can expect updates from time to time. Marco insists that you won’t be getting in touch with him any time soon, but I can’t help but imagine that you’d feel terrible if you were to entirely miss out on this exciting time in your son’s life.

Just in case you’ve misplaced the information, I’ve included my cell and e-mail. Marco’s new phone number is here, too.

Take Care of Yourselves.

Susan Kirschstein.


End file.
